Trapped are the Guilty
by AmyNChan
Summary: Truth and lies, secrets to be revealed. If the truth shall set you free, then trapped are the guilty. Disclaimer here: I own nothing
1. Prologue

Prologue

Lights flashed around the premises, bathing the entire scenery in an eerie glow that alternated between blue and red. Sirens had only died out moments ago, allowing for that terse, yet always present, silence after police had arrived at a crime scene.

"You stay back there," an officer ordered roughly, shutting his car door. As he cocked his gun, he ignored the pounding on the door of a frantic young woman, obviously angered by his callousness. However, he had no choice. The entire case was touch and go and this woman could have obviously been an accomplice.

How else would she have known what she claimed to?

The police officer shook his head. Now was not the time for such distracting thoughts. His vest was bullet-proofed and he was about to head into a brief strategical run-through with his colleagues. The suspect in the area was known to be armed and was known to have a very sick method of manipulation.

"…remember to assess the situation clearly when you enter," the chief stressed. "Our suspects will most likely be engaged in a battle of wits, and if you're not careful you will end up as one of their pawns against the other. Remain impartial and arrest both on the spot. Allow the judicial system to take it from there. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the team returned. Without any more ado about the affair, the group split off into pre-organized teams of two. Each partnership had two people which would complement the other, yet would not become compromised should they become separated or one of them injured. Such was the way of attempting to keep the police force safe as well as effective.

A certain pair of officers walked around, checking every nook and cranny for their possible suspects. The descriptions they had were sketchy at best. One man and one woman, hidden away from society in one of the most desolate—yet somehow completely sustained—areas conceived.

This was an underground bunker. A labyrinth of a bunker with twists and turns along the way, disguised in such a fashion as to confuse the one trapped within.

There was no idle chit-chatting between the two officers. They both knew a job had to be done and that it would be accomplished. They both needed to focus and were both excelling in that—

 _BANG!_

The sound was nearby and the officers wasted no time in finding its source. Obviously a gunshot. Possibly a small pistol. The officers ran towards the noise, hoping that they were not too late.

Unfortunately, they were.

"Don't move!" one of the officers demanded, pointing his gun at the survivor. The other suspect lay on the floor, bleeding out and twitching as a cockroach does once dying. The remaining officer went to offer assistance to the dying. Perhaps this life could be spared in order to ascertain the entire truth of the matter. The survivor was somewhat preoccupied with inspecting themselves for injury to note the possible threat that came with the police being on-scene.

"How did you find us?" the survivor queried. The officer contemplated answering before deciding against it. Instead, he had a few questions to ask of his own.

"What happened here?" the officer demanded. His partner appeared to be having no luck with the blood and the other was fading very quickly. The survivor sighed and the officer trained his eyes on this person. As they appeared injured and nonthreatening, he decided it would be a better idea to cuff the poor sod than to keep pointing his gun at—

"If I allow you handcuff me and answer your question, will you answer mine?" the survivor pressed, eyes devoid of any deceit. Then again, when did the intellectually gifted ever let what was going on in their heads show through their eyes? Two hands were offered for handcuffing before the officer could give it much thought. This person was serious.

"Only until backup arrives. And then you will have to repeat your story to a court," the officer relented as he pulled out his own handcuffs. The survivor allowed their hands to be cuffed behind their back without a fight and then took a deep breath.

"This ordeal began three years ago with the death of Eugene Davis," the survivor began. "However, the more immediate causes to this scenario began three days prior to tonight…"


	2. 1

1

9:00 PM

"Mai, tea," a raven haired man ordered from within the confines of his office. It had been a long and particularly droll day, even for him. Every file was organized, proper paperwork of the office had been finished yesterday, there was a somewhat suspicious lack of cases to review, and there had been no new clientele today. Not even the irregulars had dropped in for a visit. At least then he would have something to divert his attention for a few moments. Something that could not raise the suspicions of anyone nearby.

"But Naru, it's nine o'clock! I've already done my overtime!" his assistant complained from the now open doorway to the outside world. His assistant was a brunette girl who had a loud personality. She also assisted him on cases in more ways than simply filling out paperwork. Her instincts were to be trusted a majority of the time and often it was her gut that allowed him to make the safe and necessary leaps in logic to solve their cases that much faster. He would have been able to solve many of the cases without her, but her ability certainly made his job that much easier and gave his team that much more of a safety net.

Contrary to popular belief, the girl was normally on time to her work place. Perhaps this was because of the new policy he had implemented. At the end of each month, missed work time would add up into overtime where the worker would pay him back. Since this implementation, neither Mai nor Yasuhara made a habit of becoming late. Not even on a Saturday morning after yet another of Yasuhara's insane Friday night parties.

"Then make one last cup of tea before you leave. I will lock up," the man retorted. He waited for the sounds of his order being followed and was rewarded five seconds later when he heard the sound of rustling and then the footsteps of his assistant cursing her way into the kitchenette. With familiar, routine sounds in his office, he felt as though he could somewhat relax. If only for a small while. Perhaps he should work on that side project as he had been toiling over ever since he had returned to Japan. There was a reason, after all, that he refused any dinner request she received.

Should he fail, he would not want her to be holding onto a mere memory of him.

"Naru?" Her voice broke through to his consciousness. The young man turned his face to look at Mai. And when he did, every red flag in his mind went up. He knew that look in her eye. She was nervous. Usually she got this look while they were on a case and she was determined about following her instinct, which often put her in harm's way. Occasionally, she got it prior to her asking him to go with her to dinner. He had never explained his reasons for turning her down every single time. However, he had always stated "later" or "not now". Never a definite "no" so he could keep his hopes up. It was truly selfish of him, but he never really told her "no" for that reason. So she kept asking. So one day he might be able to tell her "yes".

"I cannot accompany you to dinner tonight," he recited as he gathered a few miscellaneous reports out of his desk drawer. However, before he could realize his mistake and note that he had actually gathered documents that were connected to his side project—the one he did not wish for Mai to find out about at all—her face had erupted into a shade of fiery red and she looked as though she were an angry bear on the loose.

Was it so horrible that he found it attractive even now?

"I was simply saying, _Orriburu_ , that I have a very bad feeling right now," she spat, the usage of his given name-however mispronounced-catching his ear. Either his repeated rejection had elicited far more anger than he had anticipated or she was quickly becoming frightened by the feeling that she had. Given the fact that she was warning him at all, he decided that the odds were slightly more in favor of the latter motive. If it were so, there could be something very disastrous coming. If it were the former, then her emotions may be interfering with her instincts and he had nothing to worry about.

"Your intuition?" he supposed aloud, placing the papers face down on his desk. He saw her eyes follow the documents, but he knew she would not ask. As predicted, she attempted to squash her own personal curiosity in favor of his privacy and nodded.

"I've been having it since I walked into the office this morning, and I thought it would go away by the time the day was out, but it's only gotten stronger," she explained, holding her tea tray to her chest. Her eyes gleamed with that far-off look that she naturally acquired whenever she was troubled by any one subject. "I know that I'm fine, because whenever I thought of my plans for tonight, the feeling would ease up for a little bit. It only got worse when I thought that maybe you would spend the entire night here at the office or something."

"Mai, I do have an apartment," the man chided. However, his attempt to rile her up had been unsuccessful. She stared at him with a forceful intensity, and he knew that her intuition was more than likely screaming at her. He weighed the possibilities in his mind. Were her instincts yelling at her that he was in danger here in the office, or that danger was lying in wait for him? And furthermore, was there even any danger at all? Could her instincts simply be running hot and cold, as some mediums had been known to do?

"I want you to promise me that you'll stay on-guard tonight when you leave for your famed apartment," the woman stated, sarcasm dripping from her final two words. Her glare had not abated. She was serious, as Oliver realized with a barely suppressed groan.

"I do not need you to inform me of the necessary precautions I must take," he stated. He always watched his back, an almost paranoid habit of his which was gained from his many psychometric visions as well as his experiences with British media. However, since returning to Japan, he had found himself doing less and less of said habit. Perhaps it was time once more to reinforce the eyes in the back of his head…

"…and maybe then you'll take into consideration that other people do actually care for the safety of a narcissistic jerk like yourself and actually listen when others are worried about you!" Mai yelled as she slammed the office door shut. The young man rubbed the forefront of his head, fairly annoyed at this point. _She_ , above all people, should know that he always took her opinion into consideration, even if he _had_ missed a majority of her anger-propelled ranting.

However, he considered that by the time he saw her the next morning she would have forgotten about her little tantrum and he would not have to do anything to appease her. At this stage, she was angry and frustrated. If he were to guess, she would have already gone through her cycle of emotions by the time she went to sleep. The young man suppressed a dry chuckle as he pulled out his checkbook and wrote out Mai's amount, then did the same for Yasuhara. He would mail the checks on his way to the apartment, as was customary for the last day of any month.

With that, Oliver Davis packed up the papers he required, drank his tea, and neatly placed the two checks into his briefcase. As Mai was no longer around to somehow discover what his side project was, he was free to continue his work on it inside the office that he was so very accustomed to. Still, he did not want to admit that the warning had unnerved him. He would take the necessary items to his apartment and continue investigations from there.

These were the last thoughts Oliver paid heed to before he locked up the office and began making headway to his apartment, all the while keeping one eye on the road and the other on his surroundings. Perhaps Mai was influencing him more than he appreciated as he began to be uneasy as well.

* * *

9:56 PM

By the time Oliver had arrived at his apartment, he had begun to feel quite foolish. Or quite deceived. To his knowledge, Mai's intuition had never failed her, yet did this same courtesy extend when the safety of others was in question? Perhaps it did not, given that her abilities could be easily classified as a method of self-preservation. The preservation of others might as well be hit and miss with Mai.

Oliver shrugged out of his black coat and set his briefcase on a nearby table in front of the only single-seat couch in the room. The apartment he had chosen for himself was by no means extravagant. It was a simple Japanese apartment that was nearly half a mile from the office. Close enough to never be late, far enough so that way he might not have any potentially unwanted houseguests. The only furnishings he had were those he deemed necessary for the proper functions of eating, sleeping, personal hygiene, and occasional work. Aside from one or two personal effects, the apartment could have belonged to anyone that could be passed on the street.

The telephone rang, as it normally did at ten o'clock in the evening. The young professor and manager sighed as he picked it up, already anticipating the conversation that lay before him.

"Hello, Oliver," a familiar voice called from the other side of the phone. Happy, as it always was, to hear her son's voice once again.

"Hello, mother," the young man returned. He took the telephone with him to the couch where he decided to sit. He placed the phone in the crook of his neck as he unclasped the briefcase and began to lay the papers out in a meaningful pattern. "I take it the case father took last night has been completed?"

"It was an open and shut case," the Englishwoman stated, slight sorrow in her voice. "The elderly woman turned out to have split-personalities and her family had refused to seek out help for her. Quite a shame, actually, as she was actually very kind for a majority of the time."

"How did such a case appear at father's desk?" the young man mused, picking up a paper. He knew that cases in either Japan or England were not what his mother called him for, but it was the only sort of idle chit chat he could stand. He would never tell his mother he was grateful to her for obliging him. "Surely one of the other, newer investigators should have caught such a fact before it arrived in the hands of a senior investigator. Otherwise, I might be inclined to believe that BSPR is slipping."

"Oh, if the chairman could hear you say that he would have you imported right here simply to scold you, honorary title or no," Luella chided, though her adopted son could hear the smile in her voice. For some reason or another, whenever he made chiding yet completely true remarks about the parent company, her mood would lift. It was the only comfort he knew how to give her, so he continued to give it.

"I believe he would have to find me first. The only fact he is truly aware of is that I am residing somewhere in Japan, furthering the cause of parapsychology with a small branch of SPR that is headed in Tokyo, Japan," Oliver reminded her. The only persons who knew of the great Oliver Davis's specific location were his parents, Lin—who now acted as a messenger between the head branch and himself and therefore traveled between the two countries often—Madoka, and only the closest of his coworkers based in Japan. Everyone else was a pumpkin and therefore did not have the right to know his current exact location. "He is also under the impression that I operate the office remotely, dispelling any thoughts that the only place I could possibly be is here in Tokyo."

"The only flaw in your plan is that the only time I can call you is on my mobile during my lunch break," Luella mused aloud. "This is the only time I'm fairly sure I can catch you at home and ask you about how your day went."

"It went fine," Oliver stated, answering the implication in such a way that was surely himself. He felt no need to address the fact that his mother only called while she was on her lunch break. She often left the office to grab a bite to eat in the café across the street, which is from where she called him. If someone followed her, she made sure to drag them out and engage in conversation with them for a few moments, dispelling their confidence in any type of surveillance they might have had previously.

"You know I want more details than that," the mother chided her son, attempting to wheedle more information from him. True, gathering such information from this boy was akin to taking oil from a water spout, but it could not deter the woman from trying with all of her might. "Tell me about Mr. Takigawa or Miss Matsuzaki."

"They did not arrive in the office today, nor did they inform me of their plans."

"Oh." She sounded slightly disappointed. She quickly moved on. "Miss Hara or Mr. Brown?"

"Also absent," Oliver replied, scanning over yet another page. He already knew most of this information due to a year of intensive study and research. His efforts had brought new facts to light, new pieces of evidence to be examined, and a second look at the scene had given him one more vision which had spurred all of this effort into motion.

"Mr. Yasuhara and Miss Taniyama had to have been there," Luella asserted, digging for _something_ that she could listen to. "Unless you gave them a day off…?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Oliver returned. "Yasuhara-san left today at his appointed time as he did not come in late this month, yet Mai had to stay in four hours to make up for her tardiness on the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and twenty-ninth."

"My goodness!" the woman exclaimed, somewhat shocked. "What caused her to come in late on those three days in a row?"

"Personal matters that I did not delve into to discuss with you, mother," Oliver replied, effectively snapping that portion of conversation shut. In truth, he and Mai had already arranged for her tardiness those three days. He had, of course, offered to simply allow her off scot free due to the severity of the situation she had been presented with, yet she had claimed that she would have felt horrible had she taken that route. In exchange, she had agreed to work one hour of overtime for each day she missed while dealing with her own personal situation. He had called her every night to ensure her mental, emotional, and physical safety. The twenty-ninth had been a different matter altogether.

"I see…" she mused aloud. "Is she all right? She was such a dear the last time your father and I visited."

"She is in excellent health, I assure you," Oliver stated as he set the seventh paper down. He picked up another article, this one in connection to a certain area three years prior. He was searching the missing persons' list for the third time. This time, he marked a few more faces off of the list. Slight defining features crossed three more names off of the list.

"That's good," she stated, the smile back in her tone. Oliver was satisfied his mother was pleased over something, even if he himself was becoming more and more frustrated with each passing second. The first vision he had received had been nothing more than a pair of shoes and the shade of a car. Anyone who possessed a hint of intelligence would have rid themselves of the car or possibly hidden it away from the world.

The second vision he had received implied the latter.

Oliver entertained Luella for a few minutes more before she had to take her leave and return to her office job at BSPR. Despite being elderly, she herself was one of their top investigators—sans psychic ability, of course. With her husband—Oliver's adoptive father—at the head of the department, the two of them often got the harshest cases and generally made it through splendidly. There were only three cases the duo had not solved in all of their years of service to BSPR. Those three had been solved courtesy of Oliver, who had allowed his parents to take the credit for their resolution in the end, despite the initial objections the duo had raised. It had been the combined efforts of Gene and himself to get the duo to accept the credit.

The raven-haired man let out a huff of frustration as he stood. Only a matter of three steps took him from his position on the couch to the cradle of the phone, where he promptly replaced the device. Without pouring too much thought into the conversation he had engaged in, he returned to his paperwork. In the back of his mind, he noted that he would probably not sleep in his own futon tonight.

It was more than likely he would fall asleep in his single-seat chair, pondering over the two visions that would help him in riddling out the identity of Eugene Davis's murderess.


	3. 2

2

5:00 AM

The first piece of information that Oliver observed in the early morning was the fact that he could not feel his single-seated chair in his room. Nor was he slumped over on the floor, as he had awoken to find himself on several occasions. No, he was currently lying atop of a futon, which felt as though it were on top of a plush substance. Something was not right. Oliver had not slept on his futon in three months. He had often fallen asleep in his chair, working late into the night on his "side project".

This thought propelled the young man's eyes open despite the early hour and he was immediately suspicious of his surroundings. Even if someone had come into his home and moved him to his rarely used futon—such as Lin had done from time to time whenever he was in the country—his hotel room did not have a black ceiling, nor standard photographs hanging from the walls. The room he found himself in was generic in possibly every way, shape, and form, yet it was all wrong. Oliver did not use a night table and nor did he have a lamp attached to the wall above his head.

 _Perhaps I'm having a vision…?_ Oliver thought, wondering if perhaps something new had come into his apartment, touching him in his mentally exhausted state and pushing him into the memories of another. He began to analyze his own memories, thinking of anything he had come into contact with. The briefcase had already been broken in as his own and could no longer offer him psychic visions that he did not call upon consciously. The phone was a regular telephone with no specific link towards anyone except perhaps himself, who used it the most often. His chair had been imported directly from his office at home as a family expense so that BSPR might not track him. The papers he had were all laminated to avoid such an occurrence from happening.

He was not having a vision. Nor was he at his apartment. So where on earth was he?

* * *

6:00 AM

Upon awakening fully, Oliver had noted that he was in the clothes he had fallen asleep in yesterday evening, yet he had no cellular phone of his own. Somehow he was able to take comfort in the fact that his captor had not changed his clothes. If he were not able to simply riddle out where he was by meticulously going through the building he was in room by room, then he would at least have something to gain a psychometric reading on. If anything, he should be able to see the face of the one who did this to him. A masked figure would have never made it all the way to his apartment with the level of security given in the building.

Oliver bypassed a light switch, deciding that it would not be very efficient to alert whoever had taken him here that he was now awake and carefully observing his surroundings. Before confronting whoever had obviously abducted him, it was a better idea to get a scope of what had happened and where he was.

The first thing he knew was that he was somewhere inside a hotel. A grave error on the part of his captor, as he could possibly find some not-quite-so-idiotic person to lend him a phone and call for a pick up. However, if escape were so easily attained, what was the point of bringing him at all? Did the holder of these strings have some sort of ultimatum? A personal agenda for dropping Oliver into this unknown place where—even though it was morning—no sunlight filtered through any of the curtains?

The raven haired man mentally stopped for a moment, thinking over his last observation. He had—until that point—been making assumptions based on the premise that he was still somewhere in Japan. In reality, he should have been thinking quite the opposite. What if he had been smuggled out of the country somehow? It would have been horrid news and he knew that he simply had to find the truth behind it all. The only way to do that was to draw the puppeteer out from their hiding place and begin an interrogation posthaste.

Oliver turned on the next light he passed.

* * *

8:00 AM

By the time Oliver passed by the third room, he already knew that something was not right with this hotel. It was far too empty and for a victim of kidnapping he was being allowed an awful lot of free space to roam. He had not seen any security other than standard cameras that could be easily tampered with and disabled. He had not seen a single soul in the building since his sudden awakening three hours ago.

Oliver had also inspected the windows by this point. Even if there were no sunshine outside, a horizon and its accompanying city lights would have at least given him a vague idea of where he might be held. Unfortunately, all was completely dark and the windows he had checked had been nailed shut. When his hand was pressed against the glass, he had found it to be cool to the touch. That information had been stored away.

The young man turned around in his spot. He was getting nowhere with the investigation of individual rooms. He needed to identify just how much freedom his captor was going to allow him, if his captor was still here at all. With this thought in mind, he made his way to the stairwell. Never take the elevator in an unfamiliar-and quite possibly rigged- environment.

As he continued down the many floors, the air got colder and colder. Normally, the temperature of an abandoned hotel would fluctuate in such a fashion, yet not to this extent. By the time Oliver had made it to the ground floor, he was struggling to reduce the chatter of his teeth even though his jacket had not been removed. The possibility of a person locking him in an abandoned hotel filled with ghosts amused him for no more than a second. Aside from the cold—which could be partially explained if the heater was not turned on—there was no indicator of spiritual activity. No strange noises, unexplained touch, or anything out of the ordinary.

Whatever "ordinary" could be classified as in a place such as this.

In any event, Oliver figured that the ground floor would be a decent place to find a phone. None of the rooms that he had inspected had carried one. An oddity to be sure. With this thought in mind, he opened the door to the lobby, leaving his expectations in the back of his mind to deter any possibility of being surprised.

* * *

9:30 AM

A figure watched from the security room as the honored guest milled about the lobby. He was being particularly meticulous and searched into every nook and cranny of the open space. The thought had come a few times that the lobby was a perfect place to leave a hint, yet that thought had been dismissed easily enough.

Let the genius work for his answers.

And so, the figure lay in wait. Soon, sometime while the sun was still in the sky, he would figure it out. He would most definitely find the hint. A genius such as himself would then know the context in which he was found.

But the motive of this abduction was this puppeteer's to enjoy for now. Let the genius search his surroundings. While he did that, there would be more time to prepare.

* * *

12:35 PM

Oliver was easily able to ignore the pangs of his stomach. While it was true that he would eventually need nourishment to keep his strength up, he would be able to last a day at the very least without it. At the current moment, it appeared as though the entire hotel was simply a counterfeit, made to disorient and confuse those who were brought inside. The fact that there was still no visible sunlight from the windows served to strengthen that hypothesis. The windows had neither become warmer nor colder in relation to time during his stay at this _delightful_ vacation spot, which had given him a theory as to where he may be.

However, he would not be able to solidify his theory without opening a door or window to the outside world first. The doors on the ground floor were conveniently missing and the only thing he could find were those infernal windows that were always nailed shut. Oliver turned over an idea once in his mind. Twice. Thrice.

The raven haired man picked up a nearby chair. If this caused property damage to some uninvolved third party, they would be reimbursed. However, at this point in the game, Oliver doubted that such an uninvolved party existed. If they did then the manager should have been found by now or easily paged through the use of a phone. Neither of these points were true.

He swung with all of his might at the window and was not fazed when he heard the splintering of glass, nor when he heard the shifting sounds of dirt as it flooded into the room he was in. The substance was clumpy and rich with water. It made a distinct plopping noise as it fell and did not take very long to clot over the window he had broken. Oliver reached for the dirt that had passed into the room, his suspicions confirmed.

He had been buried alive.

* * *

2:16 PM

The analysis of the dirt had not taken very long as Oliver did not have very much in the way of geographical knowledge. The only facts he could safely assume were that the dirt held far more water than normal and that it was unusually coarse. From this, he was able to deduce that he was near a source of water that was unlikely to be a beach, though that possibility was still in existence. He briefly contemplated smashing a window of the topmost floor to see how thin the wall of dirt was between him and the water source, but then noted that such an action could result in his drowning rather than his escape. The force of water would be far too difficult to swim against and he had no clue how far down he was.

To confirm his theory, he had done in a few other windows, each on a different—yet relatively low—floor. It had taken time to get up the stairs and find the rooms that were vertically aligned with each other, but the results had upped the probability of his theory being true. The water concentration had increased with each rising floor, yet the dirt never disappeared.

Oliver found it interesting, to say the least. Yes, he was in a hotel below ground with no guests and no idea as to how he had gotten there. No, he did not yet have an idea as to why this specific person would do something such as this. However, the very nature of his confinement had given him quite a few ideas already.

This had not been a ransom kidnapping. If it were so, he would have more likely than not been placed in a cheap method of confinement that would allow for as much profit from this endeavor as possible. This hotel was specifically made for this very purpose. Someone with a vast quantity of time, an ample amount of money, and a strong motive had brought him here for reasons unknown. His job now was to figure that purpose out, with or without the puppeteer's help.

* * *

8:09 PM

Oliver had spent the afternoon examining his confinement in detail. He had deduced there was a high probability of his being beneath a lake after testing the water content for salt, which he had not found. He had still not discovered a phone of any sort and there was no attempted communication from his kidnapper to himself. As such, he returned to the room he had found himself in the morning, intent on searching for something more. Something to give him a clue as to why he was here. He had a feeling that ransom was not their intended goal, but rather revenge. Perhaps he had not taken a certain case in Japan. Perhaps it was something that dated back to his working time in England. The amount of space certainly hinted that this was a personal matter and that the criminal behind this abduction wished to toy with him before revealing their purpose and motive.

Oliver scoured the original room. He opened all of the drawers with care and checked the ceilings and walls. Security cameras had observed him destroying the windows, so he felt that damaged property was not a priority for his captor. If he found anything suspicious with the walls or ceiling, such as an empty patch or odd coloration, he would not hesitate to dismantle it and discover what lay within.

Such thoughts were well and good, yet they came to be of little use. There was very little wrong with the room itself. The only oddity was the continued absence of a phone.

Oliver huffed in frustration. He had not eaten out of the kitchen because he did not know if there was food worthy to be eaten there. Not that he was too terribly picky about his diet, but he would rather not be poisoned before figuring out where he was and why he had been brought there.

"Oliver Davis, welcome," a voice spoke. Rather than coming from one specific point in the room, the voice sounded from all around. The young man turned about to find the nearest speaker. This woman was using an intercom system to communicate with him.

"I'm to understand you can hear my voice?" Oliver stated aloud, mentally graphing where he might find the security room. If he could find that, he would have a high probability of finding his captor should she choose to remain in the building.

"Correct," the woman replied. Oliver's eyes narrowed. She was most certainly in the security room. However, if she would give the answer of her location away after only a day, what point did she have in bringing him here? "Dr. Davis, you have been poking your nose around for answers. I would be more than happy to provide the answers you seek."

"At the cost of my freedom? Surely you cannot expect me to simply comply with your wishes for the sake of a few answers," Oliver scoffed.

"My dear boy, you've already trapped _yourself_ in your pursuit of answers. Apartment, work, library, and the occasional trip to the grocery store. Refusing to leave the comfort of that structure. Surely you must know that isn't healthy," the voice chided.

"How long have you been watching me?" he asked, meticulously cleansing his voice of any emotional trace. His tone was as flat as a glassy lake, keeping its secrets deep within. "This is a very elaborate set-up, creating a faux hotel under a lake."

"Not just any lake, dear boy," the voice scolded gently. "I will give you your answers one by one. The first is the obvious, physical answers. Next are the answers that you should be able to connect to on an emotional level. Finally, I will give you the answers you wish to riddle out with that overly developed brain of yours."

"This game of yours that you want to play is childish at best," Oliver scoffed once more. "I will find the answers I want before you wish to give them to me."

"That would be unwise," the voice warned. "Every action in this hotel has a consequence."

"I've broken several windows and invaded multiple rooms that were not mine. I fail to see any 'consequences' here."

"My dear boy, whoever said the consequences were strictly confined to these walls underground? Personal property damage, invasion of privacy. These are acts that cannot be returned here. As such, they have been returned where the severity will be adequate."

A crash sounded over the speakers that seemed unidentifiable to Oliver. It was cracking glass and padded footprints. A door opening, and then—

"Get out of my house!" a familiar voice roared. Oliver's face drained of whatever color it could have possibly claimed to possess. He knew that voice. Had known it growing up. Had known it by lecture, by scolding, by encouragement, by support. He knew that voice in grief and sorrow, and now in anger and fear.

It was Martin's voice. The voice of the man who had raised him.

"Who are you?" Oliver spat out. He would have expected this woman to go after someone close to him in Japan, not someone from his homeland. His question was met with the continued recording, which ended with a terrible _thud_. He waited a few moments and hoped that his father would be all right, that someone would find him and have him medically examined.

"A mere host, encouraging a valiant quest for answers. Your physical needs are being cared for, and the kitchen is filled with non-perishable canned goods," the woman stated matter-of-factly. Oliver's gut burned with desire to find this woman and end it all. To demand answers of her and force her compliance. As it stood, he was temporarily at her mercy.

The tides would change soon enough, he vowed.

"A sixteen year old boy was walking in the afternoon across a windy mountain road three years ago. A car came around the bend, stopped, made a U-turn, and collided with his body, sending it to the ground. He was flung to the side of the road, where a woman in a pair of jeans and tennis shoes found him. She got back into her car and proceeded to run him over once more. She then wrapped his body in a yellow tarp and placed him in the back of her car. She drove only a little while before stopping in a remote area where no one would see her. She then rented a boat, made her way halfway into the lake, and tossed the dead boy's body inside."

"I know all of this," Oliver grit out, willing his body not to remember the physical pain he had gone through in feeling his brother's dying agony. He kept perfectly still, not allowing the outside world to know of his internal struggle.

"Yes, but these are the physical answers. Tomorrow are the emotions behind the answers you have received tonight. After that, I'm fairly certain you will be able to riddle out the intellect behind your current predicament," the woman stated with confidence.

Oliver said nothing in reply. He would solve this faster than the pace she was insistent on going at. He would find out what was going on and he would escape. After all, this woman could not have possibly only wanted his company to answer his questions. No, there must be something else.

Something lethal.

"I do hope you find the room to your liking," the woman continued. "I took the liberty of importing a few luxuries you might have missed earlier tonight."

With that reminder of her ability to easily infiltrate his life, the woman removed herself from the speaker, capturing Oliver Davis with silence and leaving him with a silent yet very tangible challenge.

It was his move.

* * *

11:51 PM

Oliver was unsure _why_ he was doing this, but he had an idea. A stupid, reckless, shot-in-the-dark idea. _If_ , perhaps, he were to have a vision in this place, it might be _possible_ for his brother to lead someone into his head, see what he had seen, and experienced what he had experienced. This plan relied on his brother to continue to exist in this plane and had required him to live out most of his day and previous night through psychometric vision, which always taxed him physically.

With the knowledge that this woman intended to keep him alive long enough to taunt him with unattainable answers, Oliver felt relatively safe in performing this experiment now rather than later. If anything, he would waste energy today in hopes of a rescue, leaving him able to save energy for tomorrow's strategy. If this plan did not work, he would still have other options to try and certainly enough time to implement them.

After going through everything that he needed to show, Oliver performed one last task. He pulled out a notebook and pen—standard in any hotel room—and wrote a note, making sure to write in neat script so it was not difficult to read. He had been working on his kanji as well, so he translated the note just in case. He stared at it for a few moments, enough to read it thrice, and proceeded to rip it up. It would not do to have evidence lying about, would it?

Oliver performed one more psychometric vision before collapsing on the bed in exhaustion. For now, all he could do was hope and plan. Plan for an escape on his own, but hope that he would not have to.


	4. 3

3

8:00 AM

Oliver awoke from his induced sleep with a headache. Upon glancing at the clock, he cursed. That experiment had eaten not only yesterday's time, but a solid portion of this morning as well. He rose slowly from the futon, ensuring that he would not get vertigo, fall over, and have to start the task of standing all over again. Once on his feet, he zeroed in on his surroundings once more. As he expected, his chair was there, telling him that his captor had held up her promise of luxuries he might have missed.

Bypassing the chair completely, he moved to exit the room he had been given. He mentally ran through a list of 'acceptable' actions in a hotel. No running, do not enter the rooms of other guests unless invited, keep a certain curfew, take only what belongs to you, do not inflict damage on the property… If he broke any of these unsaid rules, he did not want to know what would happen to his father or to anyone else who might be remotely connected with him. He supposed that the severity of his actions would match the severity of her 'consequences'.

He would have to be careful with this one. He was certain there were at least two accomplices—the one who had broken into his house in London and the one who had kidnapped him—yet he was not sure how large of a group he was dealing with. His kidnapper, as shown from a vision from last night, had been a boy no older than twenty with sandy brown hair and wide, petrified blue eyes.

Oliver exited his room and made his way to the stairwell again. However, instead of making his way downward like yesterday, he chose to move up. As he was buried alive, there could be two things at the top of the hotel. His escape or his captor. Personally, he was unsure which of the options he would rather encounter. If he did find his escape, he would have to backtrack into the hotel to find the woman and demand she put a halt to all operations. Every one of her long-reaching fingers would be snapped and her insane shenanigans ended. After all, this was why he had started his side project.

To find Eugene's killer and to ensure that she would not hurt anyone who came near to him again.

Oliver looked at the floor number. As odd as they were, he could make some sense of them. From what he could tell, they were all dates in descending order. As he went up, the dates continued to regress. Not continuously either. The lobby had been the thirteenth of May, tomorrow. The first floor had been the tenth of May, the day of his kidnapping. The second floor had been the twenty ninth of April. The third had been the twelfth. The fourth was a random day indeed: the twenty second of August last year. The fifth had been a date a year ago: the day Oliver had found Eugene in the lake. The sixth appeared to be the day Eugene had died.

And that was it. There were seven floors to this hellhole. He had worked with the lobby and first two floors to riddle out where he was and discover the rules of his confinement. He had also learned just how far-reaching this woman was. She was controlling his every move with the fear that one of his family or even friends would be hurt if he made a single misstep.

He roamed the halls of the topmost floor. He would find this woman and put an end to her pathetic game.

* * *

10:19 AM

Oliver had walked about the top floor, circling it mercilessly for a way out or the security office. Traditionally, such a room would be found in the back of the lobby yet he had not seen one yesterday. He supposed this was the next best place to put a security office.

After all, if one could not exit the building from below or the sides, then they would have to exit from above. And a security office was usually somewhere near the entrance to stop break-ins or—in this case—prevent escapes.

* * *

12:09 PM

 _This is the door I'm looking for…_

Oliver had no doubts. This was the location of the security office, tucked away into one of the far corners in the topmost floor. He opened the door without so much as a knock and entered into the dimly lit room. The hum of monitors was constant, though the images were not that which he expected. That fact did not lessen the feeling of dread in his stomach.

"Y-you can't come into my apartment," an angry brunette said as a person entered through her door without so much as a knock. The person said nothing as the familiar girl kept insisting this male leave.

It was a boy no more than twenty with sandy brown hair and wide, petrified blue eyes.

"Get out, now!" the girl insisted, far more frightened than one would normally be. Oliver ran up to the monitors, his teeth grit together in frustration. "If you don't leave I'm going to have to call the police! Just leave!"

"I will as soon as this note is read," the man finally said in a soft voice, though he held no paper.

"What note? If you're just here to give me a note, then—"

Oliver scanned the desk in front of him. That vile woman must have known he would look for her here. It figured that her location would not so easily be found out. He looked around the room for a paper, a sign, anything. He walked to the door and flipped on the light.

How he had missed such a note was beyond him. The note had not been on paper, but scratched into the surface of the wall.

'Oliver Davis,' the note read. 'You are only too predictable. I trust my assistant has gotten your attention and managed to make you turn on the light, which is unfortunate. You now have a matter of a few moments to leave the room before he begins to choke the life out of your friend. He will start whenever he likes once he knows you're in this room, and he will not stop once he has begun.'

A loud thud came from the monitors and Oliver turned, already fearful of the worst.

Mai Taniyama was gasping for air on the screen, the body of her opponent lying on the ground before her. He was groaning in pain, but not unconscious. Mai disappeared into her apartment before the boy gathered enough strength to stand on his own two feet again. Oliver watched, completely helpless, as the boy made his way further into her apartment and out of his vision.

"Mai, if you don't get out of there, so help me, I…"

But there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. He heard clattering from the speakers on screen and held his breath, waiting for anything. A shriek from Mai penetrated his ears and he heard a harsh thudding of something against the floor.

A single set of footsteps wandered around the apartment for a few moments.

"Taniyama-san?" an elderly voice called. Some frail old man Oliver had never seen before—very easily somewhere in his eighties—came to the girl's door with a broom in hand. The footsteps stopped.

Then the tape cut out.

Oliver did not process the fact he had punched the screen out of anger until he had already done so thrice. The room was getting colder by the minute and items were falling out of place, but no one was there except for Oliver.

He was alone.

* * *

1:35 PM

Oliver knew that he needed to escape on his own. There was no hope of a rescue and his attempt to root out the base of his kidnapper had resulted in…

The boy forced himself to remain calm. If he lost it, everyone else he held dear would in danger of the same fate. Lin, Madoka, his parents, everyone in JSPR. They were all at risk because of him. Because of his actions in this accursed prison. But if he escaped, she would only continue to torment everyone he could possibly hold close to him.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want?" Oliver grit out. He knew he would not be answered. Somehow, the woman had been able to predict his next move and find a suitable counter. It was proving very effective but Oliver was not in a position to admire her skill in manipulation. It appeared as though he never was.

The boy refused to go down to the kitchen. If his kidnapper wanted him alive and healthy so badly, she would have to come in herself and force him to be so. And once that happened, he would use the remainder of his strength to kill her.

To kill her like she had killed Eugene.

To kill her for instilling fear into the hearts of his parents.

To kill her for manipulating him and his actions.

To kill her like she had ordered the death of Mai.

To kill her for everything she had done.

* * *

6:30 PM

"He hasn't moved from that spot since the camera cut out," a man said, his voice distorted due to the fact that he was being heard over a phone. The voice was deep and gruff. Thirty-five years of age, the woman knew. "I thought you wanted him out."

"I expected him to find a method of escape or even search for me more extensively," the woman said. She had no problem speaking her mind to this person. It mattered not. "Instead he stands there… defying the very orders we give him. Why?"

"Looks like Danny-boy went after the brunette instead of the celebrity," the voice responded.

"That explains it. It would seem like dear little Oliver is planning something."

"Shouldn't you be worried?"

"Of course not."

"If you die—"

"I promise that at the end of this affair, you will have your money and never see me again. An added bonus for your promised silence on this matter as well. Was that not the bargain?"

"You're the boss, just don't do anything stupid."

The dial tone in her ear went unheeded and the woman got back to work. This game would continue. And it would end with her holding all the trump cards.

* * *

7:36 PM

Oliver sat in front of the monitors, keeping an eye on each of the screens. If his theory was correct, there was a method of communication with each location. Finding the method was the trick, the key. If he could warn someone on the outside of the danger they were in, then perhaps they could take action against it.

Bou-san came into his apartment dressed in his showy costume. He had most likely spent all day working a gig with his band as it was the first time Oliver had seen him on the monitor. He seemed not to notice the camera in his own apartment as he completely bypassed it and headed for the kitchen.

How would Oliver contact him if he had no idea the camera was even there?

 _Everyone seems to be returning home for the night. Perhaps Hara-san will notice the camera…_ Oliver thought. He looked at the monitors to figure out which scenery belonged to the famed celebrity. His eyes landed on a traditional Japanese living room—how had someone managed to hide a camera there?—and assumed it to be hers. That was when he remembered.

She was on a tour in America. Again. She would be of no help.

The ebony-haired boy continued to scan the screens, hoping that someone would figure out that they were being watched. A flash of pink hair caught his eye and he found himself looking into the sunlit apartment of his teacher, Madoka Mori. In the woman's arms was none other than Oliver's own mother, Luella Davis.

He could only watch as the pinkette attempted to soothe his obviously upset mother.

Oliver fisted his hand. He had to get out of here. He had to live for that woman who had lost too much already. He had to _do something_. Escape was possible, finding this woman could be a reality, and doing both required strength and cunning. He looked at the sobbing face of his mother and his resolution was firm.

He looked at the controls for the third time, going over the function of each mentally. He did not touch anything for fear of setting off a trap or alerting another of this woman's accomplices and setting something into action that he ought not to.

But if he did nothing—as he had been doing for the past few hours—he would be trapped in his own fear and anger for a very long time.

He found the volume control and turned it up. The voices over the screen boomed in sound.

"Shhh, he'll be all right…"

"But Martin, and now Noll's gone missing, and the house…"

"Where is that stupid monk? I need to tell him about…"

"What's for dinner? Maybe…"

Oliver turned the volume down. He reached for the microphone next. Would it communicate with the rest of the hotel—this woman's method of contacting him last night—or would it communicate with the outside world—perhaps her preferred method of contacting her companions? He flipped the power to the microphone on.

"If anyone is there, respond immediately," he ordered.

"Sorry, no brats allowed on this comm," a gruff voice said. Much different from the voice of Mai's murderer. Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?" he asked. A dark chuckle erupted from the other side.

"Me? I got nothing to do with this. All I got right now is a paying job and a shiny red button. Boss said not to push it until you contacted me. Lemme know which one of your friends gets it when I push this."

"Don't—"

Oliver did not finish his message. The button had been pushed, but he had not heard it. He had not seen the after effects. He was too preoccupied experiencing them.

The first thing that happened was every single monitor shut off simultaneously. Then, a timer lit up across the top of the room, using only one second. Oliver had no time even think about moving out of the room when the explosions began. He jumped backwards as soon as he heard the noise, just barely clearing the doorway. The explosion itself had shaken the boy, but he quickly disregarded all of his surprise.

For the explosion had not meant to kill Oliver. It had been meant to start this fire and cut off any access to the outside world.

The boy looked around for anything to put the fire out. If the intense flames did not kill him, then perhaps the fact that the fire was eating his oxygen supply and replacing it with dark smoke would. He looked down the hall only to find closed doors.

Oliver opened another door and found a fire extinguisher off to the left of the entryway. He grabbed the device and aimed the hose at the flames, pulling the pin instantly. The white foam was ejected harshly yet the boy had no problem controlling the flow. Within moments every part of the security office had been completely covered in a white mess.

Yet the damage was done. Every monitor had been damaged by the quick-spread fire. The note had been erased by flame and every piece of technology ruined by this well-placed trap. Even the comfort of seeing his family, friends, and acquaintances safe from harm had been violently ripped from his hands. Oliver grit his teeth.

He hated this woman.

* * *

8:15 PM

The top floor was empty. The only thing that had been useful was the faux security room.

"I take it you've figured out the purpose of my spyglass," the woman's voice sounded around the hotel, just as irksome as the night before. Oliver's teeth met each other in grinding frustration, but he chose not to dignify her with a response. She seemed to expect this.

"What you saw today were images of everyone you hold dear. Their lives go on, even if they do not yet realize that you are not a part of it," the voice continued.

The remembered sound of his mother's distraught cries begged to contradict that statement. However, as Oliver already knew the woman was crazy and merely attempting to have him assimilate her logic, he chose not to validate her claim with a response. Thoughtful or otherwise.

"Life goes on for those who continue to live it. Heartaches happen, tragic mistakes can be made, lives can also be ended in a matter of seconds."

She allowed a moment's pause for her twisted words to sink in.

"A recent widow once believed in the supernatural. So much so that she believed her recently departed husband haunted her home. Desperate, she reached out for help, hoping that her husband's spirit would be put at ease. What she got were frauds who were more interested in her financial standing than her emotional well-being. That, and a tag-along."

It was obvious to Oliver that the woman spoke in reference to herself. Was this perhaps the Shinto-style exorcism that his brother had left England for? That he had literally died to see?

It had been a fake?

"The team stayed for a good number of days, flaunting equipment and fancy exorcisms to demonstrate their power and sincerity to the woman whose money they were taking. They could not work thermometers or read data correctly. The odd occurrences continued to persist and the woman grew more desperate. She presented the team with an ultimatum. Finish the case by next sunset or pay the price.

"The case was obviously not finished by the next day. Not by those fake people. So she took matters into her own hands. Sunset passed and next day dawned. The tag-along, a young boy no older than sixteen, walked along the road at noon. He was obviously nonessential to the team. Someone expendable in her desperate mind. She set out to give an ultimatum, and an ultimatum was given.

"The fake team was gone by the next sunset, fearful for their lives. Bastard Minami."

Oliver did not even flinch at the familiar name, but rather felt extreme anger. His brother had left the country to see a genuine Shinto-style exorcism. He had been so thrilled with the prospect of leaving the country, with seeing the culture, with everything entailed—academic and otherwise.

Only to end up dead because of a fake researcher's greed and a psychotic woman's desperation.

"The woman knew she could not live among society. Not with her husband's ghost and now the soul of the young Mr. Davis on her conscience. She did all she could do. She went into hiding. Her husband's fortune—which was vast—was spent creating a space where she could live away from the judgmental eyes of society. Alone with her misery and her guilt in the one place that would remind her of it daily."

"And yet you've brought me here to your little paradise," Oliver stated, sarcasm dripping from his every word. The speakers were silent for a moment, the only sound being a strange rhythmic noise that the microphone had not picked up on before.

"If there is one thing I can do for the young boy who sent my husband's soul to peace even after death, it is to help his brother gain the understanding he is searching for."

Oliver was fairly certain his eyes held his distrust.

"The library is on the floor of April twelfth."

And she said no more.

* * *

9:43 PM

She watched on her video feed as he strode through the hotel, looking for the library she had spoken of. Her hint was very subtle, but she knew he would get it eventually.

 _After all_ , she thought as her mask pushed more oxygen into her nose. _What kind of genius wouldn't pick up on that?_

* * *

9:59 PM

Rather than immediately go through the obituaries starting with the date of April twelfth three years ago—which is what Oliver was certain the woman wished him to do—the young man looked through the library, hoping to gain more insight on his captor and possibly see the extent of her reach through subtle clues.

His findings were hardly surprising. She had every book ever written by any of the Davises in both English and Japanese. She had tour books of each state in America and each province of Japan. She had a small booklet for Normandy that seemed out of place. When Oliver pulled it from the shelf and opened it, he found it to be a memoir of sorts. Pictures and memorabilia that seemed to belong to a young man rather than an older woman.

But other than that, there was nothing here except for mountains of newspapers. Like the books, they were neat and orderly and everything seemed to have its proper place.

This was a woman who liked control, after all.

It took no time at all to decipher her method of placement and seek out the newspaper he was looking for. It was in the third row, fifth column, and fifteenth paper from the top. April twelfth in the year of Gene's death. Oliver opened to the obituaries.

 _Taniyama Juurei, age 43, beloved mother and friend. Succeeded by her daughter, Taniyama Mai._

 _Osaka Matsuki, age 52, beloved uncle and husband. Succeeded by his wife, Osaka Chihiru, and niece, Osaka Minori._

 _Yohmei Akiko, age 45, beloved husband. Succeeded by his wife, Yohmei Charlotte, his daughter, Yohmei Umi, and his company, Yohmei Corp._

Each entry had a single picture to accompany it. Only one, however, caught Oliver's eye at the moment. It was the picture of a man and his wife celebrating with a cake. The man looked jovial and his wife seemed to share in the bliss. A woman with short brunette hair and lines that would be easily defined even without a mass amount of light. A woman who would probably be very at ease in tennis shoes and wore a shirt that boldly proclaimed that she was a friend of Casper.

A woman whose name was now known as Yohmei Charlotte.

* * *

11:58 PM

He had spent the past couple of hours deciding where his captor would hide herself. She would not take refuge in society—the one place she had desperately tried to escape. She would have known every nook and cranny of the building.

Knowledge that Oliver now possessed.

She had spent hours going over that clipping in the newspaper. Enough for him to get a reading of her mind and where exactly she had been hiding during his stay.

He stood outside the elevator, waiting for it to make the smooth transition to his floor. His earlier decision to avoid such machinery while she held the upper hand had been predicted. He wondered if his new decision to take said elevator had also been foreseen. Either she was watching or she was not. Either scenario could not stop him now. He was on a mission.

The doors opened before him and Oliver slid past them with ease. His eyes caught the control panel which read the dates he was already accustomed to seeing. And an addition.

Oliver pushed the button for this new floor with no name. The doors shut as midnight came.


	5. 4

4

12:09 AM

The floor in question was very similar to the rest of the hotel. And yet very different. The hallway was the same sickly stretch of cream he had seen for the past two days, the floor the same cheap imitation of green with mildly irritating geometric patterns of a lighter hue. Lights were mounted on the wall at regular intervals, but the pictures made it difficult to see where exactly they hung.

Pictures. The one blaring difference between this floor and the others. Almost every bit of free space was captured by newspaper clippings, case files, covert pictures, a convict photo or two, bills, and hastily written scribbles.

 _I may not be able to do so later, but somehow I will make sure the truth is out! My car lies vacant in the garage, an eternal reminder of the crime I am too cowardly to face._

Oliver frowned as he moved forward, his eyes raking over pictures taken a year ago. Of divers at the lake.

 _My secret is out! I am ruined! Akiko, young Mr. Davis, please forgive me._

The black haired man strode past, looking at the sheer quantity of others on the walls. The further he ventured from the entryway the more evidence there was. The more bills, the more pictures, the more scribbles.

 _Can't tell._

 _Must tell._

 _Who to tell?_

 _Him._

Oliver cursed his carelessness. This was the first picture she had of him personally, taken as he was looking into the tarp that once held his brother's corpse. His face was devoid of emotion—expected from him—yet his eyes displayed the resignation and pain he remembered all too vividly from that day. The picture beside it was taken a few months later, when he had returned to the scene of the crime alone in order to gather his thoughts. Burning questions of "why" had plagued him, haunting even his visions. Why had his brother died? Why had the killer not come forward? Eugene had always been an emotional idiot, and such a reason had kept him and his curiosity sated for a while. The knowledge of how many enemies he had made in his career also kept him from looking too deeply into the incident.

For his own good.

But there had come a day where blaming Gene's idiotic nature had not helped in the slightest. A realization had dawned on that day. The murderess was still out there and he was big enough to have made powerful enemies. If one of these had been Gene's murderess, who was to say she would not strike again?

This picture captured the moment he had decided to find her. His grip on the guardrail, his fear for the safety of his family and acquaintances, and his determination had launched him into a vision that gave him more of the information he needed. More defining features, more information on the car, but never a name to go with this newly revealed face.

Until now.

Oliver pushed the door open at the end of the hall.

* * *

12:30 AM

"You're a bit earlier than expected," she noted, her hand cradling a silver pocket watch. Its chain was rusted and worn, much like the watch itself, and only just hanging onto its existence. She knew this very well, yet kept the watch on her person owing to the memories it guarded for her. Kept safe for her. This watch was her closest companion.

"I'm afraid you've given me no time to prepare myself and breakfast isn't yet ready, but we could certainly fit a midnight bout of tea in," she continued, placing the watch inside her robe. She shuffled her feet in order to find what she sought. A package filled with crackers and surprises. Much like toys found in the boxes of children's cereal. The tea bags were also easy to gather up. As was the kettle. And the cups. And the water.

"How many people are working for you?" the boy pressed. She knew without looking that there were bags under his eyes, that he sought answers, that he was seeking freedom. She would provide for his needs. After all, she was a good hostess.

"Just the two. Would you prefer milk and sugar with your tea?" she queried. She reached as far as her limbs would take her. Where was the sugar?

"Where are they?" he pushed. She was slightly surprised at his lack of hesitation. It was as if nothing would unnerve him. Not even the fact that she just told him how many people were working under her.

Oh well. She had nothing to hide. That was the whole point.

"One's in jail and the other's enjoying a nice stay in England," she told him. She finally reached the sugar. "It's such a lovely place sometimes, but I'm afraid I never went. Akiko told me we would go one day, but that never happened."

"You're still in contact with the one in England." His tone of accusation was not lost on her. She smiled.

"Yes. I still have to pay him, after all. That was one of the details I had no time to prepare for. I had planned on doing that at five. You really have come very early," she commented. She scuffled over to her computer and waited for it to boot. The kettle whistled and demanded her attention, which she promptly gave. She put in a lump of sugar for herself and just a touch of milk. For the boy, nothing. He had asked for nothing, had he not?

"Terminate any contract you have with him," the boy ordered.

Tsk.

Tsk.

Tsk.

"My dear boy, is that how you should treat me? After all I've done to aid you in your quest for answers?" she asked. Hardly respectful on his part. Much less grateful. She knew this well. "I have a debt to pay and this is how it must be done, but you _will_ show me the respect I deserve."

"You deserve to rot in jail. You deserve to die. You do not deserve my respect."

Horrible little boy.

"Fire him."

The demands. How rude! A lesson is in order. A lesson indeed.

"Even after death, young Mr. Davis was most kind. He took my husband to the light. He promised peace for my husband's soul, but could not go himself. He did not hold my husband back from happiness out of envy or spite when he realized of his fate to wander the earth. He asked no reward for his kindness, and perhaps that was his way, but his kindness has killed me," she admitted. She reached into the box of crackers. A prize for the dear boy. A reward for the young Mr. Davis.

"Your brother died because of my mistake. You no longer need to search for answers, dear boy. They are all here. I've given them to you. And now, my final gift for the young Mr. Davis."

Her husband's final prize. A small pistol he had a permit for, which Charlotte had hidden away after his death. While not as nice as the pistols she knew in America—the land of her birth—it was still a serviceable gun. She had not used it on the young Mr. Davis because she had thought it a disgrace to her husband's name. Now, in an effort to make things right again, she would use it.

She pointed the gun at the dear boy.

"I am sending you to the young Mr. Davis. Perhaps he will be happy to see you again. It is my only way to repay him, after all."

She aimed.

Oxygen puffed its way through her mask and into her nose.

She fired.

And she saw nothingness.

* * *

2:35 AM

"...she missed her mark and hit something behind me. I don't know what it was, but it created a powerful explosion. I was pushed forward and she was thrown into the wall. Her head fractured on impact and that was how you found us," Oliver concluded. Of course, what had happened was something beyond the realm of factual evidence—currently—but there was no need to go into that. For now, he needed to make sure he did not collapse out of exhaustion.

"And how is it that she's the one dead and you're not? You were closer to the explosion, after all," the officer asked skeptically. The young man shook his head. He saw no use in explaining further. He had given them the story so they would have ample room for discussion about the woman's insanity in hiring two accomplices for such an insane plot and how far she had been able to go without getting caught. There was enough evidence in the hallway to convict her mere memory and to get Oliver himself off the hook.

And then? Oliver tried not to think about the fact that he may very well be going back to Tokyo for a funeral.

"How did you know where we were? This place should have been difficult to find," Oliver pressed, attempting to busy his mind. The officer looked towards one of his colleagues. Oliver had told his story—stopping partway through in order to have recent arrivals catch up and omitting anything to do with the supernatural that was not from the woman's mouth—and was now topside for the first breath of fresh air he had in the past couple of days. He had cooperated with them and given them his side of the events transpired in the hotel.

His colleague nodded. It was only fair to uphold their end of the bargain.

"A young female from Tokyo led us to this spot. She wouldn't leave the police station after we picked her up after a home invasion," the officer mentioned. Oliver stopped, processing this information.

"The only reason we were able to amass a force this large for your rescue was because a sponsor threatened to cut funds if we didn't. Whatever friends you have, Davis-san, they are plenty influential," the policeman continued to comment.

That was the kind of stunt Martin would pull.

"Because of your powerful 'friends', you're entitled to a trip back to Tokyo where you will be held and tried for the death of Yohmei Charlotte. Given that only one of these cars is actually _from_ Tokyo, you'll be riding with the informant. Keep in mind that whatever you say can and will be used in a court of law, including conversations between the two of you. The driver can hear everything you say," the officer warned. Oliver nodded firmly as he was led to the car, knowing that cooperation was the best way to get the answers he needed.

"Let me out!"

A young female from Tokyo who insisted to come along after a home invasion. A young female whose voice Oliver could clearly recognize. And she was shouting. Of course she was shouting. Why on earth would she not be shouting? Oliver sighed as the officer stood in front of him and tapped on the window to the car. "Scoot over," the uniformed man ordered.

"Let me out of here!" she yelled at him, completely disregarding what he had told her. "I don't care about your fancy precautions! I can help!"

"You can't help a job that's already been completed, Mai," Oliver said. The girl stopped in her pounding of the door for a few moments, blinking. The boy sighed. This girl... This woman...

She was alive.

Thankfully alive.

"Scoot over and let me in," he ordered. Unlike her response to the policeman, Mai hurried to oblige. However, when the officer opened the car door and placed Oliver inside he felt a rather harsh stinging sensation on his face. The sound that accompanied it was nothing; it was the mere fact that Mai had slapped him that got his attention.

"YOU IDIOT! Do you have _any_ idea how worried we were?!" she shouted. Her left hand was red from the sting of slapping him and her eyes were filled with tears. "Office shut down, no idea where you are, Lin-san's not due to come back for another couple of days because we all know he's the only one who can find you when you're on one of your 'trips', no note, no nothing, and then I get vision after vision from Gene that lands me flat on my butt until noon when I get assaulted by a home invader that looks just like your kidnapper, he tries to _kill me_ , and then I've gotta go to the police station with nothing more than a bad feeling as proof that my boss is kidnapped because he takes trips all the time and no one would listen to me because they thought I was hysterical until we got your parents involved and do you even have any idea how hard it was to get them up here and—NARU, DON'T EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!"

By that time, she had gone through her phase of grabbing onto his shirt, pounding on him—it did not hurt as much as she probably thought it did—and screaming at him. Now, she was simply hanging onto the front of his shirt, glaring at him through angry tear-filled eyes.

And Oliver had no response.

* * *

8:36 AM

Oliver was not sure what was wrong with his sleeping schedule. Perhaps he had not quite processed that the danger had passed. Maybe it was that the constant motion of the police car kept him from taking a long restful sleep. It was highly likely that he was still convincing himself that he was alive.

That Mai was alive as well.

She had luckily succumbed to sleep long ago. Her smaller fists were still wrapped around his shirt, evidence of her all too stubborn nature. Somehow, he had not brought himself to order its removal. In fact, once she had fallen asleep five hours ago, he had rested his hand on her back, simply feeling her breathe. It was a stable breath given that she was unconscious, constant and slow.

He moved his hand to her back, right over where he knew her heart lay. He could not feel her pulse, but somehow having his hand in that position made him feel validated. Made her existence all the more real.

He released a shuddering breath. For a long, terrifying while, he had thought her to be dead. If not for his mother's obvious distress—clearly visible on the cameras he had been watching—who knows what sort of action he would have taken. Quite possibly something drastic to reach the conclusion that had been accomplished without such fanfare.

Yohmei Charlotte was dead. There was enough evidence and written confessions to convict her memory of insanity. Enough proof to say what Oliver did was self-defense, even necessary, should the court prove he actually _did_ anything. He would not be held for very long, if at all. And at the end of it all Mai was alive. _He_ was alive.

And now he knew the truth. Knew the 'why' and knew that everyone around him was safe. And that was all he had wanted.

His eyelids began to droop shut for the third time. He expected yet another short power nap while his brain continued to process all that had happened, even though he was fairly certain he had already processed it all.

* * *

6:43 PM

Mai had woken long ago, but her boss had not. She would not move from his chest so she could continue to hear his beating heart. Maybe he would call her out of line later. Maybe he would be in a bad mood later. Maybe he would be mad that he slept through almost the whole ride back to Tokyo. Maybe he would not want to talk to her at all later. Maybe she would be pushed out of his social circle for a while later.

At that moment, she could not be brought to care. When he had disappeared. When Gene had shown her what had happened... She could not recall a time where she felt more dread. At least when he had collapsed after the ebisu case she had been there. She had been able to see him and had been with him even while waiting in the ICU. She could watch his recovery and gain heart in that fact. This time, all she had was the knowledge that he was in danger and the fact that it had been Eugene's murderess that had kidnapped him.

Eugene had been extremely instrumental in finding Naru and making the last leap in logic. He had known where the entrance was and had known of the woman's seclusion, figuring for himself that if the woman hid herself away then she would not become a problem for his brother or the rest of his family and friends. He was the one who told Mai exactly where to look and how to open the door once he had realized that his brother had been taken.

From there, it had been a matter of getting a hold of the Davises, which Mai had done by calling Madoka first. Madoka had told Luella-san and Luella-san had told Martin-san in turn. With an solid lead to follow and explicit directions on how to save his remaining son, the man had quickly pulled enough strings to get the police force into action. It was intended for Mai to remain in the station and out of danger, but the girl had simply been too anxious.

She did not regret her decision to sneak into the floor of the police car, only revealing herself by an accidental sneeze when they had been ten hours outside of Tokyo. While the officer had not been happy, she had pointed out that she knew how to open the door to the confines. The policeman threatened to send her on the plane home if she did not tell him, so she complied. It was her rotten luck that he had forced her to remain in the car while they got Naru out of there.

 _Ba-dum._

 _Ba-dum._

Mai shut her eyes once more, just listening. His heart was beating and he was alive. She was still somewhat angry for the worry she had been put through, but the overwhelming relief that his life had been spared dampened the effect.

"If this isn't a dream, I promise I won't bother you for the next few days," she said sleepily. "I kept asking you to dinner because you got a bit nicer when you came back. You're still Naru, but you showed you cared a bit more, and then you went back to normal work-a-holic Naru. But you stopped waving me off and gave me actual answers to my questions. You trusted me a bit more on cases and it seemed like we were friends and I wanted to thank you for that. That's what the dinners meant to me because I'm not sure just giving you tea would tell you how much I appreciate having you here… I don't know if you'll end up hating me for being so close right after this happened to you, but know that if you need me I am here. I guess you already knew that, though, when you wrote me that note through visions..."

Mai was torn between a chuckle and a shudder. A shudder because of what that vision had started for her. A chuckle because of Naru's attempt at dry humor.

' _Mai, do not go on your own. Remember that idiots need to live long.'_

"I didn't go off on my own, though. I got the police and your parents. They're going to make a fuss over you for a while and it wouldn't even surprise me if they wanted you back home..." Mai trailed off. She had lost him, found him, and there was a very real chance of losing him again to those who cared about him most. They were his family, though. He would be safe. "If you want to go home, there's nothing I can do or say to change your mind either way, but if you do I promise I won't get in the way."

"Wake him up, we'll be at the station in five minutes," the officer said from the front, interrupting Mai. She was torn between gratitude, embarrassment, and frustration. Frustration because she had not said everything she wanted to. Embarrassment because she had completely forgotten the driver was there—though how she had managed to do so was a mystery. Gratitude because had the man not stopped her she would have continued to ramble for quite a long while.

She gently shoved herself off of Naru's beating heart and placed a hand on his shoulder.

His brilliant blue eyes opened a little too quickly for Mai to think he had been quite asleep. She gulped.

* * *

" _Oliver Davis Released!_

" _On May 10_ _th_ _, young researcher and CEO of his own company Oliver Davis was taken from his home by 20 year old Daniel Brekk. Brekk-san has been on the run from American police for five months and was in Japan under the employment of Charlotte Yohmei, former CEO of Yohmei corp, to assist in the kidnapping of Davis-san._

" _Davis-san was in Yohmei's custody for three days until his rescue on May 13_ _th_ _, where police gathered in a valiant and daring rescue attempt on the lead of an undisclosed informant. Yohmei-san did not survive, but confessions written around the walls prove her guilt to the crime and to the crime of killing Davis-san's brother, Eugene, three years ago._

" _Trial followed Davis-san's rescue to determine if he killed Yohmei-san for a need of revenge concerning his brother. This trial was met by protestors, all valiantly cheering for Davis-san's immediately release. Protestor leaders Hoshou Takigawa and Ayako Matsuzaki insisted that while Davis-san could be a strict leader, he was no killer._

"' _That boy needs manners from time to time, but he would never kill anyone,' Matsuzaki-san told the news. 'He's got the tact of a beach ball!'_

"' _He wouldn't kill anyone. If anything, she was the one holding a gun to his head!' Takigawa-san added._

" _Protestors rallied behind Davis-san for the duration of five days, when he and the informant were both put on trial. Today, May 18_ _th_ _, is the day where they both walk free. An interview with Davis-san on his plans for the future yielded a surprising answer._

"' _I'm going to dinner and then I'm going back to work,' Davis-san told us. 'If you don't have a case, then go find something better to do.'"_

The sounds of ripping paper filled a small Japanese apartment. The newspaper article was thrown in the trash without a second thought, save for the picture of the young man with black hair standing free on the steps of the courthouse. Behind him was a young woman—either the 'informant' or his girlfriend. It mattered not.

It was because of that man that her mother was dead.

It was because of him that her family name was shamed.

It was because of him that her mother now was slander in every household.

It was his fault!

"Are you done with your pity party?" a voice asked. The young woman—about 27 years in age—turned around swiftly. A man had entered her apartment without sound. He was large and looked strong. Her heart quivered in fear, but also in residue anger.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" That anger came in useful, it seemed, to standing up to home intruders.

"My name doesn't matter." The man waved off her question while making himself at home. He seated himself in her armchair. The one her mother had brought for her years ago. "All that matters is that you've got a goal that lines up with my methods."

"What are you talking about? Get out! I'll call the police!"

"Ah, yes. Because we both know how effective they are. Just like they were effective in keeping your mother safe. From herself and from the boy who killed her," the man said.

That was true, she realized. The police had not helped her mother. They had sided with the rude boy who had killed her. She narrowed her eyes at this intruder. He knew a lot.

"...who are you?"

"Someone who wants your 'justice' as much as you do."

She looked at the man with an even gaze. He was a tall, strong man with big arms. He had no facial hair and his head was covered in dark fuzz. His eyes were beady and dark, but filled with an anger that she felt connected to.

Whatever this man's connection to her mother, she would take it. Her revenge needed to be extracted.

"...I'm listening."

* * *

 **Dear reader,**

 **This is the end of this particular little adventure. I had been hoping for a warm reception for this and my wish was fulfilled by seven wonderful reviewers and eleven trusty followers. This story had been in the works since November and has actually gone through quite a bit more editing and forethought than the rest of my stories. I'm truly glad that you decided it was worth your time to pick up and read.**

 **Thank you for not tossing it aside for lack of apparent NaruXMai. It had been one of my biggest fears in uploading this story, that people would not pick it up for lack of romantic whimsy. I'm glad you have.**

 **Now, onto the point of this message. There is a second cannon ending to this story. Either one works and either one can be disregarded. I'm considering writing up this second cannon ending and posting it in my oneshot collection. I sincerely hope that if this is the case you will read it and (in a twisted sort of way) enjoy it.**

 **Thank you for following me on this fun little adventure. I hope that it's given you enough open-ended questions to ponder and left enough clues for minor backstory plots to be fulfilled. *^_^***

 **-AmyNChan**


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